Bear in Mind
by Demolate
Summary: In a not-so-distant future the Quincy have left Soul Society in shambles, hopeless and awaiting the end. When Urahara's last-ditch attempts to send Ichigo into the very near past go awry he finds himself trapped in world where Aizen is still a respected captain, familiar faces are few and far in between, and he must navigate his way through defeating not one but two enemies.
1. When It Happened

.

 _ **PART I**_

 _ **CHAPTER 1: WHEN IT HAPPENED**_

* * *

Everything was black at first.

 _ **You'll only have a week before it starts.**_

He wasn't sure what he had expected— pain, noise, light— but it wasn't this. Nothingness.

 ** _Act fast. You'll only have one chance._**

No sensation. No feeling. All he had were those lingering words of Urahara's, curt and rushed. It had all happened so fast, the screaming, Ywhach, all those crushed buildings and crushed bodies, and suddenly he was being dragged away. Taken down, further and further. Shoved into that jagged metal contraption. And now this, whatever _this_ was.

He just wanted them to be alright. All of them. It didn't matter what it would take. This time, they were going to _live._

 ** _And… be discreet. You don't know what they can hear._**

* * *

He had barely expected it to work— whatever _it_ really was— but he was here now, under a little thicket of trees, the grass dewy beneath him, First Division in his distant line of sight. He felt everyone he'd left behind, or at least almost everyone, in a reiatsu cluster in that building. A captains meeting.

Arriving had been so strange, like being shoved out the door of an airless room, it had barely happened a minute ago and already it seemed fake. He wished he'd had the chance to talk to Urahara, because what now? Here he was and Soul Society was unscathed and there wasn't a Quincy in sight, but what the hell was he supposed to do? _"You don't know what they can hear,"_ Urahara had said but what the hell did that even mean? Ichigo knew that the Quincy had been living in the shadows— were currently coiled up and ready, maybe even watching him think under the shade of the trees— but could they really hear everything? Was it even possible to get to them?

How the hell was he supposed to stop an enemy when he didn't know where exactly they were, how to get to them, or who to tell? As of now, no one had heard about the Quincy for around a thousand years, and even then only Yama-jii and Unohana had been captains. But Yama-jii hadn't believed Mayuri when he'd brought up the Quincy, and something told Ichigo if he were to barge into a captains meeting insisting an evil army was lurking in the shadows the reaction would probably be the same. He didn't even know if there'd been any signs yet, if anyone suspected anything wrong. Apparently a few days before the invasion almost an entire district in Rukongai had gone missing, but not yet. Nothing yet. Urahara said not to waste any time, but there didn't seem to be much more option. He needed to talk to someone, and even though his first choice was currently in the very-near future a close second was in reach. Rukia.

He took off to the First Division in a flash of shunpo and anxiousness. She would believe him, even if she didn't understand.

Two guards stood poised by the stairs to the meeting hall. Ichigo strode up, about to start up the steps when one of the solders grabbed him by the shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?" The man sneered, so tall he had to crane his neck to make eye contact, "There's a meeting in progress!"

Ichigo tried to stay polite, but he felt like a rubber band stretched a taut second away from snapping. "I know, I just want to wait fo—"

"What's your name?" The other, smaller sentry asked.

"Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo."

The larger kept his frown, no click of recognition, no sudden embarrassment at his brashness, "You're not a captain, you're not a lieutenant, you can wait down here."

Ichigo balled his fists and turned away. He didn't want to do anything stupid, but had a feeling he just might if he stayed. He was faster than them anyway. In a blur he disappeared before the men, around the stairs and up onto the roof. He jumped, roof to roof of the vast first division until he was vaguely close to the meeting hall and then reeled in his reiatsu. If he got too close they'd be able to sense him, and he didn't want to deal with anyone until he knew what he was going to do. If Rukia didn't have any ideas the he'd go back to the human world and see Urahara and have the strangest conversation in the history of ever. Maybe he shouldn't even been waiting for Rukia, who's to say she'd have a solution?

But before he had the chance to leave the Captains meeting was out, figures filling out the doors. He was going to say something to Rukia— may as well. Maybe it would even be a good idea to ask her to come. He could only make out a select few at first— Ukitake with his long white hair and Kyoraku's pink kimono and Komamura as huge as ever and back in his armor— as he scanned the crows. He would need to get closer though, she wasn't the only lieutenant with short dark hair and from this distance he'd never be able to tell them apart. From so far away Toshiro— oddly enough lacking his captains robe— looked moderately tall.

Ichigo skipped roofs until he was on the building beside the platform they were beginning to exit across, so close he could hear their conversation. His eyes skimmed across Hisagi's spiky hair and Mayuri's general ridiculousness, looking for that tiny figure with the short hair and white sword. He didn't see her. He was about to squint, focus and really try concentrating on every face, try slowing his frantic glancing, but a voice cut through,

 _"What do you mean another meeting tomorrow?!"_ it demanded, gruff and worn. _"That's the third this week!"_

Now, Ichigo did not know every captain and lieutenant very well on a personal level but he was entirely certain that he could at lease recognize any of their voices, and that was not one of them. He rattled his brain, trying to match a tone to a face but came up dry. He had not heard this man before. He looked down to the source, at the spiky hair he'd thought belonged to Hisagi but upon closer inspection sat atop the head of someone tatoo-less and most certainly _not_ Hisagi. And even though Ichigo couldn't recognize the voice that didn't mean the face wasn't familiar because it was. Very, very, very familiar. Not to anyone he'd seen in Soul Society though. He did a double take, and a triple, convinced he was looking at his own skewed reflection, but no. The man continued to move and speak while Ichigo's mouth remained shut and his body statue-stiff.

 _Kaien._

He had never seen a picture, but Ichigo knew that face— it was the one he saw whenever he caught his own reflection. This was Kaien. Before he'd never been able to imagine them looking as alike as everyone said, had assumed they shared a feature or two, but now he was shocked that they hadn't made a bigger deal out or it. This guy Ichigo had never met before, who had been long dead by the time he was even been born, was more recognizable than the people he'd known and fought with for years. It should've been impossible, but here he was. Rukia would be thrilled, wherever she was. He'd meant so much to her, and now, somehow, he was back. That was probably what the captains meeting had been about, welcoming back a long-lost lieutenant, explaining how any of this was even possible. Rukia needed to be here. He would've imagined her flanking around Kaien, the rest of her world on mute, but she was no where. Instead Kaien was now talking to Toshiro, too hushed for Ichigo to make out their words. He tried reading their expressions, but when his eyes drifted to Toshiro his blood went cold.

Everything was all wrong. Too tall. No haori. Silver hair.

A foxes face.

It wasn't Toshiro he was staring at.

It was _Gin._ His bone-chilling smile and shut eyes, nodding at Kaien's words. Two dead men… Ichigo began to wonder if they had come back unscathed to Soul Society or if he himself had made an awful mistake getting into that machine if Urahara's and was now in a strange underworld with them. He blinked some more, looked away and looked back because this couldn't have been real. He wasn't seeing this right. But then Gin said a goodbye to Kaien and strode over to a figure who was paused talking to Unohana. A figure in a captains rope, only the dark, shaggy back of his head visible.

Even though this man was not facing him, even though Ichigo had no way of seeing his face, he damn well _knew_ who it was. He could feel it. Standing within earshot, standing so close Ichigo could slice his head clean off before anyone could detect a sliver of reiatsu, was Aizen.

 _Fucking Aizen._ Ichigo grabbed the hilt of his sword, the moment taking over, and nearly sprung. He would've, but at that moment Gin's head pivoted just a bit to face Ichigo. His eyes were nearly shut, there was no way to tell where he was looking, but then his smile crooked just a bit and Ichigo's heart stalled in his chest and he hurtled himself off that roof. He needed to leave. He needed to be anywhere _but_ where he was. He sprang from roof to roof to roof until he was out of the First Division barracks and far, far away from all those reiatsu signatures.

How the _hell_ had he not noticed? How had he not _felt_ them?

Eventually he was in a wooded area he didn't recognize, probably near the gates to Rukangai by now. He didn't stop by free will though— no, he ran and he ran like a chicken with its head chopped off until his foot snagged a tree root and sent him hurtling into the hard ground. His cheek, chest and right shoulder connected first, with such force his body skidded a few meters, leaving a scar of dirt among the green grass. His jaw slammed together, a chuck of tooth wriggling loose in his mouth followed by the metallic tang of blood. Everything throbbed. Motivating himself to get up seemed like a lost cause.

Of course Kaien hadn't come back to life, that was idiotic. Somehow Urahara, or the universe, or whatever other forces had come into play to send him back had fucked up somewhere along the line. He should've known, nothing to do with Soul Society ever went as plan so why did he think this would be any different? He wondered how far back he was. Obviously after the whole Holowification incident if Aizen was a captain, but before he had arrived in Soul Society to rescue Rukia that first time. So anywhere between 3 to 100 years ago. _Fantastic._

Now he sure as hell couldn't go the the Shinigami. Had he gone back to the correct time they would've been skeptical at best, with his tales of time travel and a thousand-year-old enemy lurking in the shadows, and ready to lock him up on the grounds of absolute insanity at worst. Now there was no chance. What could he do, wander into a captains meeting, insist he knew all them, that he'd saved the world on more than one occasion, that one of their own was a traitor, and _then_ tell them about the Quincy? They'd been trigger happy back then, back _now,_ and he didn't think storming in with accusations would fare well for him. Before he'd won their trust by charging in with a rag-tag army and attacking some of them and then bringing down an entire conspiracy but somehow he didn't think that opportunity would present itself again for a very long time. He needed an in, a way to get them on his side again.

So far as he knew there were only two ways to become a shinigami: either by putting in six whole years at the academy and then slowly climbing the ranks, or shooting straight for a captains position and dueling to the death with whoever was currently in charge of the Eleventh Division. The second was tempting, he could march right up, demand a fight and be wearing a captains haori by nightfall. But if he were to do that he'd either have to duel the Kenpachi he knew or would have to in a few years, and even though all of the badgering and demands for a rematch were a piss off, Ichigo didn't want to kill Kenpachi. At all.

So, Academy it was. An absolute waste of his time but he didn't see any other way. _Maybe I'll even run into someone I know,_ he thought before realizing how absolutely useless that would be, since no one anywhere would have any idea who he was. Unless Urahara found a way to pull him back to the broken present, which he didn't want, than the next few years would be lonely. And confusing.

A complete fucking headache, actually.

 _Urahara,_ he thought while finally pulling himself off the ground, _what the hell did you do?_


	2. Nightmare Vision

**A/N:** **Thanks so much to everyone who read/reviewed/favourited/followed last chapter! This ones gonna be a bit longer, and I think they're going to keep getting longer. I'll try updating again before next Friday.**

* * *

 _ **PART I**_

 _ **CHAPTER 2: NIGHTMARE VISION**_

* * *

Ichigo was now an official first year student of the Shin'ō Academy.

Sort of.

He was still a bit reluctant to accept the 'first year' part.

His enrolment had been… _strange,_ to say the least. He'd gone right after picking himself up out of that hole his body had dug in the ground, still covered in dense mud and wilted grass with his lip split open. Also, apparently most people _applied_ to become a student. So when Ichigo wandered in all bloody and filthy still in his shredded shihakushō— something he'd forgotten he was wearing, _something only members of the goddamn Gotei 13 were supposed to wear—_ and told the first teacher-ish looking person he saw that he would like to attend the Academy there was a _bit_ of confusion.

Actually, a lot of confusion, considering the only reason they didn't kick him to the curb straight away was that they thought he was a Shiba.

After that he was taken into an office-looking space by the teacher-ish person he'd approached, a short little man on the verge of balding, who told him to _'wait here'._

So Ichigo waited and he waited, until a very tall, very frail woman named Tsumara walked in with a stack of papers and asked him some questions. Mostly about Kaien at first and whether or not they were related or even knew each other— no to both of course— and then once that was out of the way and it was established that he was most certainly not a noble she wanted to know who he was and where he came from and _why on earth_ he was wearing a shihakushō in the first place, and that was were it got tricky.

Because 'the future' wouldn't have been an acceptable answer he'd had to lie and lie, spinning a tale that neither of them really believed. He'd said he was from Inuzuri since that was the only district of Rukongai he remembered the name of, and that he found the shihakushō laying around and kept it since it was nicer than anything he'd ever owned. But then she asked how he'd gotten there, to the Academy, which was in Seireitei and 78 districts away from where he'd said he was from and guarded by a very large gate. Ichigo had not thought about that, and was silent for too long before finally saying that he'd _walked,_ which would've taken days or weeks and when she reminded him of that and asked him to elaborate he said he didn't remember and that the journey had tired him into delirium. He'd been hoping all that would somehow make her forget the question of his name, but it didn't. When she asked he told her he didn't have a name, and then when she huffed, _'Well, what are we supposed to call you?'_ he said it didn't matter. She just pursed her lips.

And even though she very obviously knew he was lying and didn't seem to much like him that was apparently neither here nor there, because he was permitted to take the entrance exam. She said he could come back tomorrow, but he insisted on taking it that day and even though it annoyed her she said _fine,_ and that another student was currently testing but they would try and fit him in right after. She also made sure to tell him how lucky he was, arriving at the start of the year, and one of the very few years they'd had a shortage of successful applicants.

The actual exam had amounted to some light sparring with an instructor— both hand to hand and with a dull wooden pole— and then he was asked to to reel in and flare his reiatsu, which he was certain was where most students had failed. The entire time he'd been second guessing himself, it was all so easy and he didn't want to show them too much and raise red flags or show too little and get put away into one of the bottom-tier classes and have to spend even _more_ time there. Fortunately though they'd seemed just impressed enough. They offered him a spot— Class One of course, a room in the dorms, and shoved a uniform at him with a grimace to his current attire. Then that lady, Tsumara, came back and hissed that he'd better buckle down and take this very seriously because he was arriving a whole week in and since he had no name they would be calling him Inazuri and, _again,_ he was so very lucky to be here and ought to appreciate it. He would start the next day.

That night he lied in bed listening to the low hum of chatter in the room next to his and tried letting it drown out his own thoughts. He didn't want to think about Aizen or Yhwach or whether or not he'd be stuck here forever, not right now. He just wanted to know what they were saying, those people a wall away from him. Even though he couldn't make out any words every once and a while the tone would pick up and get louder, but he didn't think they were arguing. They sounded excited.

The little room they'd placed him in consisted of a little window, two futons, and two desks. But no roommate. They'd said there was an uneven number of first year students, and that again being _so very_ _lucky_ he wouldn't have to share. It was probably for the best, but still— he'd never lived by himself like this. At home he had his dad and Yuzu and Karin, at school he had his friends, and then here in Soul Society he _usually_ had the Shinigami. He wasn't used to not having an option in whether or not he was alone. It was weird.

He wanted to sleep, for tomorrow to come. Maybe being in a class and training would help, would clear his head. He still hadn't decided if he wanted to be in a class with someone he knew. Being surrounded by unfamiliar faces might seem strange at first, but if he were to talk to a friend or even an acquaintance and have to pretend not to know them because they wouldn't know him, that might be worse. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, every option as shitty as the next.

 _Sleep,_ he reminded himself again, trying to shut off his brain and let the mutters next door take over. There was nothing left in today for him, nothing to be said or done to straighten this out.

He just needed to give all this _time—_ which was maybe for the best, considering time was all he really had.

* * *

The cold air woke him.

It was seeping into his bones, burning his lungs.

He expected to find his tiny window open, but when looked back to it there was no wall. No bed either, he was back lying on a hard surface. This wasn't his room.

Everything was red and black, and so dark he could barely see. The only illumination was the redness, every object shrouded in the eerie glow. It took him a while to recognize this place, the colours were all wrong, but eventually it started to click— a side-swept city, the bright crimson clouds drifting along vertically, the new found emptiness.

He was in his inner world.

He got up, paced around, looking at the bloody sky, the shadows hovering above. Every time he exhaled it would come out in a puff of white air. When was it ever this cold?

Just as he wondered if anyone was left here he felt someone behind him. He whipped around, but everything in that direction was cast in blackness.

There was a cackle. _"Oi, King!"_

That voice.

"Hol–" no, not The Hollow. Not anymore. "Zangetsu?" He asked the dark space before him.

 _"So you're finally gettin' it."_

He didn't like this. The voice bounced along the buildings, echoing like they were in a valley, making pinpointing him impossible. "Why am I here?"

 _"Shouldn't you be askin' Urahara that?"_ Another snicker, _"I'm your Zanpakto now, King. Things are gonna be different."_

There was something almost threatening in the way he said it. "What do you mean _?"_

A beat of silence. _"Why'd ya lie about your name?"_

He hesitated. "I don't know."

 _"Yeah ya do."_

"I don't— I just," Ichigo inhaled, exhaled, tried relaxing his breathing. "I didn't want them to recognize my name when I go back."

 _"Huh,"_ he sounded closer, somehow, even though Ichigo hadn't heard any movement, _"That the same reason you BURIED_ _me in the fucking GROUND?"_

Shit. Ichigo had been hoping that wouldn't come up. But what else was he supposed to do? No way he could've wandered into the Academy with a zanpakuto, never mind one like Zangetsu. Absolutely no way. He hadn't had anywhere to put it, and didn't want anyone to steal it, so he'd buried it— in that hole his fall had made, back over by the division barracks. He was going to go and get it tomorrow, of course, but he had a feeling Zangetsu didn't much care about that. "Is that why I'm here?"

There was more silence, just the sound of Ichigo's shaking breath, before Zangetsu huffed, _"Nah, King. I'm your Zanpakuto now. I wanna help."_

"'Help'me? With _what_?"

 _"Not so bright in the past, eh?"_ Another one of those laughs, _"Ya didn't give them a name so they wouldn't remember you, but what about your face? You're the spittin' image of that lieutenant, and don't ya think they'd remember that more than a_ name _?"_

"I—" Ichigo paused. Right. How the hell had he not thought about that? People had been staring all day he looked so damn much like Kaien. God, what if they'd been telling people? A doppelgänger boy without a name who just wandered out of one of the toughest districts of Rukongai. It was a story, and even worse a _memorable_ one. "I didn't think about it."

 _"Imagine that!"_ Cackle. _"Ya know, if you'd thought about it before comin' here, you probably coulda just done somethin' about the hair. Too late now though."_

 _Dammit._ How had he been so stupid? He couldn't stay here, meeting people he knew, becoming something to talk about, if it meant breaking the future. He didn't know what it would do, if on that first rescue mission he'd arrived to find the people here already knew him, but without a doubt it would change things.

 _"Ah, King. Don't worry,"_ Zangetsu spoke, sounding so close Ichigo swore that he'd feel him if he were to stick an arm out, _"Like I said, I'm your_ Zanpakuto _now, and we're gonna start workin' together. I'll fix this."_

It sounded terrible. "No, H- Zangetsu, don't. I don—" but the sight of yellow eyes hurtling toward him, gleaming like flashlights in the dark, cut him off. The last thing he saw was Zangetsu's bright white hand, fingernails claw-sharp, inches from his face.

Then everything away. No light, no sound. His face though, it felt wet.

He reached up to wipe it, but when his hand landed on his flesh he saw stars. The pain was white-hot. It was bright, and loud, and overrode everything else. He hissed. Every time the air hit it was like being lashed with a stream of acid. He tried getting back up, scrambling away, but when he did he fell.

He tried opening his eyes, but one either stayed shut or had lost its vision completely and the other took its time adjusting to the dark.

The only light was a moonlit square on the ground in front of him, cast by the window above. He looked to his feet, tangled in sheets while the whole rest of him hung off a futon. Beside him was a nightstand, and further away another futon.

 _What the hell?_

This was his dorm. This was the _Academy._

For a moment he wondered if the whole thing had been a dream, but his face was still wet and searing. He kicked his feet free and ran into the bathroom.

His fingers scrambled for the light, slapping up and down the wall until he found it. The tiny bathroom flooded with a yellow cast. He stared into the mirror.

What he was looking at, it didn't look like him. It was red all over, with two meaty gashes: one from the forehead, across the nose, ending at the corner of the mouth, and the other starting below the eyebrow, skimming the edge of the sealed left eye, and tapering off at the left nostril. They made a misshapen 'Y'. The larger one, the one that began at the forehead, seemed impossibly deep, still hemorrhaging blood in thick rivulets.

It didn't shock him until he began to recognize this thing— this thing that looked like a slashed steak— as his face. He was looking at himself. A nightmare version.

He thought about washing the blood away, but the cuts were still pouring and for all the pain there'd be he didn't see a point. He looked into the basin of the sink he was hunched over, the whole thing slick and red, and felt lightheaded. Maybe it was just the shock, but if it were bloodloss he'd have to do something. He couldn't get medical attention, too many questions and they might fix it completely, which he wasn't sure he wanted. It was something he'd have to take care of himself. Maybe he could stitch it up.

As he listened to the blood _drip, drip, drip_ into the sink he realized something. The floors. He stepped out of the bathroom and looked back into the room. Sure enough, his sheets and the floor were splotched in red. Fuck _._ One more thing.

He had to clean his sheets, his floor, dig up Zangetsu so this shit wouldn't happen again, and sew up his face.

It was still late, probably, and now he couldn't get to sleep even if he wanted to— which he didn't. He'd be busy tomorrow, the classes here would be long. He might not have time for all of those things and since some of them— his face, namely— were pressing he might as well burn through all them while everyone slept.

He grabbed his shredded shihakushō discarded in the corner, tore off the end of the sleeve and tied it around his head to quell the blood flow. It still seeped down his forehead and into his working eye, but at a slower rate. It would have to do.

As quietly as possible, he eased his bedroom window open and tried hoisting himself through. It was so tiny though, he had to maneuver a fair bit before he was out.

Drop wasn't far, two small storeys, but the breeze against all that broken skin made him wince. Shunpo wouldn't be fun. None of this would be.

* * *

The next morning Ichigo was bathed and ready long before he heard any kind of commotion in the halls.

Last night had been a long one.

He'd broken into the Fourth Division first— stolen needles, thread, new bedding— and was headed back to clean up when he realized he needed something to sanitize the needle and his face with. The Fourth was far back by then, so he stopped off at the Eighth and swiped a bottle of booze and then decided he might as well grab Zangetsu. By the time he got back to his room his vision was blurring and his hands were so shaky that he stabbed himself in the wrong place at _least_ ten times while stitching up his face, all the while wondering why he hadn't checked for any pain killers and eventually settling for the sake. He'd done an awful job and chosen a thread that looked way thick, and now his face somehow looked even worse than when it looked like raw meat.

Also, the blood-glaze and all the sharp pain had somehow concealed what had happened to his nose. It was broken, defiantly. An additional gash tore across the bridge, crisscrossing with the much larger Zangetsu-induced one, and it had swelled up to unrecognizable proportions. Like a boxers nose. The only easy part of last night had been the cleaning. Luckily there were no carpets in Soul Society, and the bedding he'd taken from the Fourth Division was identical to the ruined ones— which he'd balled up and hidden in the closet and would dispose of later. Then, he wiped the dirt off Zangetsu and slid it beneath the extra futon.

He'd finished it all up a little over an hour ago, and had been lying motionless ever since, just waiting for class to start. He was even dressed. The moment the stirring started outside his door he was up.

There were only a few students in the hallway, lazily heading out of the dorms. It was probably still too early. Ichigo looked at the little piece of paper he'd been given yesterday, a make-shift schedule till they made him a real one:

 _700-800 Lecture_

 _830-1100 Hohō_

 _1130-1400 Zanjutsu_

 _1430-1700 Kidō_

 _1700-1930 Hakuda_

It'd be one long-ass day. He had no idea where anything was, either. They'd given him a little map Of the school grounds but it was impossible to read.

"Hey," he said to the first person he passed, "Do you know where they do the lectures?"

The person, a dark haired guy about his age, stared. So much for being forgettable. "Yeah… uhm, take that exit, right there," he pointed to a set of doors at the end of the hallway, "and you'll see a bigger building, go inside, up the first set of stairs, and it'll be one of the first doors."

"Thanks." He muttered and started off. He hadn't wanted a reaction to his face. He still hadn't look in the mirror since he stitched it up, it was too weird.

The main building was gigantic. Maybe even triple the size of his school. Better looking, too, all wood and warm colours. The lecture room took up a good chunk of the second floor, a massive stage braced by maybe thirty rows of seating. There were only a few students there so far. He sat on the edge of the room, near the back. A trio of girls sat a couple rows above him, gushing that the lecturer today was gonna be a Fourth Seat. _'Can you even believe it?'_ one of them asked her friend, _'Fourth Seat! I'll bet they actually talk to the lieutenant and even the captain like, every day. I can't even imagine getting to walk around the barracks!'_

Ichigo smirked a bit to himself. Back in his time he'd talked to the captains and lieutenants everyday when he was in Soul Society. One of his best friends was a lieutenant. Hell, even last night he'd broken into two divisions. He'd want to see their faces if they heard him referring to a captain by their given name.

Over the next half hour students slowly started filing in, till nearly all the seats were occupied. He was constantly scanning, looking for someone, but he'd never seen any of these people.

It wasn't till the last few minutes of that incredibly boring lecture, going over bland details of squad structure he already knew, that he caught something. Two rows behind him, a shock of spiked red hair. _Renji._ He looked a bit younger, no tattoos and a lower hairline, but otherwise the same. On either side of him was Kira and Hinamori, both baby faced and less visibly tormented than the people he'd met.

Once they were dismissed he tried following them out, he didn't even know if he'd talk to them, he just wanted to see them some more. He paced behind them until while passing a very large window he dropped the little slip of paper with his schedule written on it. But when he did that something happened, and someone on the other side of the window moved too. Ichigo looked over.

Bending down, parallel to him was another orange-haired kid. He frowned, and stared for a few more seconds before getting up, the other guy following in suit. It took him too long to realize that this pane of glass wasn't a window— it was a mirror.

He'd been looking straight at himself, but everything was different. It didn't even seem like a reflection, just some poor kid with an uncomfortably gory, gashed face. So marred it would've been rude to stare at all. It had gotten so much worse. The cuts had swelled into ridges along the stitches, the skin so thick and puffy his face looked like a patchwork of flesh taken from different parts of the body and shoddily sewn together. He looked like a science project.

In another time that could've been upsetting, but now it gave him hope. If he couldn't recognize himself now, who would be able to in forty-something years?

Maybe he should be thankful. Actually, he defiantly should be.

So, he thought up a little thank-you, and hoped it would travel through the halls, outside, into his dorm room and under that bed:

 _Thank you. Thank you so much for your help you stupid fucking hollow._

 _Couldn't have done it without you._


	3. The Grapevine

_._

 _ **PART I**_

 _ **CHAPTER 3: THE GRAPEVINE**_

* * *

The next three days dragged on.

If Renji, Kira, and Hinamori were all still in the Academy then that meant he was at _least_ forty years back.  
Forty years. More than twice as long as he'd been alive for.  
He didn't even want to be here one more day, though.

It hadn't been bad this week, just so uneventful. He'd thought that maybe class would help— doing familiar things, the stuff he was good at.

It didn't work out like that, though.

He'd never considered how learning everything as fast as he had might make dumbing himself down difficult. They'd taught him to run before he could walk and now here he was, not able to show everything but still having to show something. He had no idea what in between looked like.

Zanjutsu had been easy enough, even though his idea of 'light-sparring' had knocked all of his opponents flat on their asses within a matter of seconds. Hakuda had gone about the same. The easiest had been Kidō though, since he hadn't needed to fake not knowing what the hell he was doing. He'd been awful at it at first, but so had Renji.

For now Reiatsu Control was fine, they were only covering the basics, but he worried that keeping himself reeled in would be complicated when they advanced.

Hohō was the worst. First year students were not supposed to know shunpo, and he'd never really learned the basics of Hohō. He'd tried pretending at first, going at the rate of the rest of the class, but by the second day his patience was wavering and the instructor was snapping at him and so he finally just broke and said _forget it,_ then darted to the brink of their outdoor training grounds in a flash of shunpo that left his teacher slack-jawed and the rest of the students gossiping with speculation. He had a feeling he'd be getting moved from that class very soon.

He'd assumed that after the first few days they'd bump him up into a higher class, the Second Year ones maybe, but so far no one had said anything. He just needed more control. Right now he was so concerned with seeming suspicious that he was playing it safe and half-assing too many things. He'd have to step it up. He didn't want to be in these first year classes much longer. Not just because it was a waste of time, either— he hated walking in every morning, bee lining for Renji and his group, and then remembering that he was a stranger and being anything but might ruin _everything._ To make things worse, his face was healing up. It was probably the only time he'd ever wished his injuries would linger, because at this rate it would be safe to remove the stitches soon. His nose was still crooked though, that was probably permanent.

He wished he had a mask, a believable one, or that he'd gotten a new face entirely before he came. Hell, now he'd probably settle for some _hair dye._ If he didn't look like himself he could talk to them, it was just too risky now though. If only he could talk to Urahara— he'd figure something out.

Nevermind the face actually, if Urahara were here he could straighten out this entire mess. Ichigo had no way of getting to him though. Aizen was a captain, which meant Urahara, the Visored, and Yoruichi had all already fled to the world of the living, but it may as well have been another planet. A Senkaimon was needed to travel between worlds, and Urahara, the Kidō Corps and Mayuri were the only people he knew capable of opening one.

He groaned. The logistics of this mess made his head hurt. Here he was, over forty years in the past while Aizen was probably building up his army of Espada and the Sternritter were perched in the shadows awaiting their cue to pounce. No way he could just sit there letting the enemies get stronger, but he didn't have any other option.

His list of ideas was bleak. The only thing he could think of was stealing one of those butterflies that opened the Senkaimon and fleeing, but he didn't even know where those came from. It was irritating— knowing that there was probably a solution but that he wasn't smart enough to reach it.

He heard a knock.

"Uhh… excuse me, um, _Inuzuri-san?"_ a voice squeaked from behind the door, sounding terribly uncertain of the name, "Classes are starting in a few minutes. I wouldn't want you to be late."

It was Mori. A very young looking boy that lived across the hall from Ichigo and had made a few very awkward attempts at conversation over the last few days.

"Thanks." He called back, but lied draped over his bed for a few more moments. He didn't want it to start again, this mundane loop. First thing was Zanjutsu, and then Kidō, which he had debated missing. There would be no skipping though— nothing to draw attention from any of the instructors.

Finally, he rose, grabbing his wooden Zanjutsu sword and preparing for another full ten hours of nothing.

* * *

"Just let me in for a _second._ They'll never even know I was there!"

Tsumara pursed her lips, "Shiba-fukutaichō, as much as your presence is appreciated here I cannot allow you to make unscheduled disruptions to classes, no matter your rank. This Zanjutsu class has some of the finest students we've seen in ages and I wouldn't want so much excitement impeding their progress, especially in such a fast-paced course. Anyway, I'm sure your time is much better spent tending to your division."

She hated him. Always had, always would. A lieutenants badge wouldn't change that. But it didn't matter to him right now.

He wanted to see this class, know what all the fuss was about. An unseated member had mentioned that a friend of her mom or aunt or dog or something was the wife of the Zanjutsu teacher and apparently he said that this was the best bunch the academy had seen in decades. Normally he'd chalk it all up to gossip—this was what, the _second_ week of classes? How could they already know?— but then Ichimaru let it slip that Captain Aizen had already scheduled _two_ visits. If this class really was chock full of unanimously gifted students then why the hell did the Fifth Division get to recruit them all? Also, earlier today he'd eavesdropped on a member of the Eighth Division whispering to her friend, _"My little sister's in the academy right now and she said she saw Lieutenant Shiba's literal doppelgänger running around campus, only his hair was like, blond— or wait, no, actually I think she said orange. Yeah, definitely orange."_

That part was probably gossip, but it still piqued his interest. He was _going_ to see that class.

He shook his head, sighed— the whole bit. "You're probably right. Wouldn't want to interfere if it's that important."

She gave a taut smile, if you could even call it that, and nodded. "Very good, Shiba-fukutaichō. Will you be on your way?"

 _Ha,_ didn't even want him lingering. "Yeah, in a minute. I just wanted to look for my captain's picture." He pointed to the wall behind them, plastered with a long line of class photos.

She hesitated, opened her mouth like she was about to protest, then shut it and turned to leave, exasperated. "It's one of the first ones. It'll be near the end of the line."

Once she was gone he waited a few more moments— he could see her lurking behind the corner— and then crept to the big wooden doors to the Zanjutsu class. He remembered this too well: bounding through those doors after sleeping in, struggling them open after a long class, all the whispers left in his wake.

He didn't miss it. Not one bit.

* * *

Ichigo sat leaning against the furthest wall, right beside the door. His jaw was clenched so tight he was surprised his teeth hadn't cracked. He'd been tucked away about ten minutes ago, when the instructor had put a hand on Ichigo's shoulder after his third sparring match and said, " _I think you'd better sit out for a while. We'll talk after class."_

They knew. Probably not everything, but they knew something. He was such an idiot, thinking these people who saw hundreds of regular students every day wouldn't notice how shady he was. They were going to ask questions he didn't think he could answer. He was shitty at this— the decisions, the lying, the plans. If this whole entire situation had taught him nothing it was that he was useless unless under someone else's thumb. He was a _pawn._

As much as he may have enjoyed sitting there and churning with self-loathing for the remainder of class, the door crept open beside him and a head poked out. Ichigo did a double take— spiky dark hair, green eyes, that face. Kaien. He hadn't seen him up close before. He assumed there'd be some differences, but other than the fact that Kaien was noticeably older they could've been twins, just with different colouring. It was eerie.

When Kaien noticed him sitting there he brought a finger up motioning to be quiet, then looked to the rest of the class. They hadn't noticed, his reiatsu was tampered way down and they were too far away and distracted. Kaien quietly slipped in, shut the door behind him and crouched down beside Ichigo, "How far into class are you?"

For a few seconds Ichigo only stared. At least they didn't sound alike. "We're almost done."

Kaien stared at the class, then back at Ichigo for a while, probably just noticing the busted nose, scratched up face and the fact that he was sitting alone in a dark corner. "Did you do something bad?"

" _No_ ," Ichigo nearly snapped, still hushed, "I don't know. Maybe. I just have to sit here. Hino-sensei said we'll talk after class."

He had a feeling this was weird. Lieutenants probably didn't make habit out of chit-chatting with random students. He also had a feeling he wasn't reacting properly. Probably should've bowed or something.

"What, do lieutenants drop in here to talk to you every day?" Kaien asked, as if reading his mind. "You're pretty casual."

He blinked, "I just— well, you don't want anyone to see you, right? You snuck in, I just assumed you didn't want me drawing any attention over here."

"Fair enough," Kaien sat down on the floor beside him and huffed, "You can't see anything down here."

Renji and Kira were sparring, they had been for a while now. The rest of the students were circled around them in a thick throng, obscuring any view. The only indication of how the battle was playing out was the echoing clatter of wooden poles. "It doesn't really matter. Kira probably has this one."

"What?"

"Usually Ren— I mean, Abarai, wins. Just not when the fight goes on really long like this," Ichigo shrugged, "It's more about endurance at this point. You never know though, I think Kira messed up his arm."

Kaien frowned, "So they do this a lot?"

"Nearly every day." It was kind of interesting to watch at first, but they'd faught well over ten times in the last two weeks and by now Ichigo could predict every step and swing. He couldn't blame them though— the couple times they'd sparred with other students it was done in under a minute. Hino used to try and push Ichigo into challenging one of them, but he kept making excuses— that his wrist was stiff, his ankle had rolled, his swollen eye skewed his near-depth perception. Eventually it was dropped, but not before it probably raised a red flag or seven.

"Are they good?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"Have you gotten your class rankings yet?" Asked Kaien, shifting his gaze from the crowd to Ichigo.

"No, Monday."

"Who do you think's gonna be at the top?"

He'd been thinking about that last night. It was either going to be him or Renji. Nobody else stood out; Izuru wasn't fast enough and had a weak arm. Even though Ichigo could kick Renji's ass blindfolded right now there was no way of anyone knowing that since they'd never been paired up— he took the other students down faster and with ease, but Renji took on tougher opponents and faught a lot more. "Could go either way."

"Between those two?

"Um," Ichigo pondered lying. It seemed to be all he did these days. "No. Either Renji or me."

Kaien raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud thud and a grunt from inside the circle and then Kira's bizarrely chipper voice, "Good match, Abarai-kun!"

Renji huffed a response, but Ichigo couldn't hear what he was saying. The crowed backed up a bit, offering a view of Kira helping him up.

"Well," Kaien rose from the floor, "Did you call it?"

"Yeah, Ren— Abarai's the one with the red hair and Kira's the blonde." Ichigo said, raising his voice over the sudden mutters of the other students. He stood up beside Kaien, "They might see you now that they're not distracted."

"Wouldn't wanna make a scene," Kaien tsked and opened the door, "I came all the way here and didn't even see one damn strike."

"It's better at the beginning."

Kaien sighed, already half out the door, "Well, good talking to you…"

He trailed off, waiting for Ichigo to proffer up his name. He didn't like saying it though, it sounded like a lie coming from his lips and he worried it was obvious. So he just nodded, "Yeah, nice meeting you too, Shiba-fukutaichō."

Ichigo could tell that wasn't the response Kaien had wanted, but he didn't have the time to wait for a better one so he left without another word.

That hadn't been so bad. He hadn't spoken to anyone he knew since he'd arrived, and even though he didn't really _know_ Kaien he knew of him and that counted. Familiarity— he missed it.

Now Hino was lecturing the mass, something he did after every match and at the beginning and end of class. Every head was turned to face him but one. Hinamori. She looked disturbed almost, and was staring at Ichigo like he'd just grown ten feet tall and sprouted horns— or, like he'd just been casually conversing with a lieutenant. Her eyes kept shifting, the door to Ichigo, Ichigo to the door. His stomach tightened and he mentally begged her not to remember this or try talking to him after class. They held eye contact, and for a terrible moment he was sure she'd come over asking questions, friends in tow, but Hino's booming voice announced that they were free to go. Ichigo spun on his heel, swung open the door and started down the hallway, imaging her tapping on his shoulder or calling out his fake name with every step. Soon enough though the other classes were dismissed, flooding hallway with with students. A warm feeling of invisibility settled over him. She wouldn't be able to spot him now. He was just another student, shoulder-to-shoulder with more people exactly like him. Not someone who captains and lieutenants spoke to, not someone who knew the Royal Guard, not someone who was currently weighing his options in saving the world.

Even though he knew it wasn't true it almost felt good.

* * *

Momo tapped on Kira's shoulder and poked Renji's bicep as they left class, "Did you two see that?"

Renji kept walking, "See what?"

"Shiba-fukutaichō was there! He was at the very back of the class talking to the guy with the stitches, he left literally _right_ before we were dismissed."

They both turned to look at her like she was crazy. Renji scoffed, _"Sur_ _e."_

"I'm serious! They were talking! And I think they knew each other, because when Shiba-fukutaichō left that guy didn't even bow, he just waved him off."

"We woulda known if a lieutenant was here."

"He _was!_ "

Kira shook his head, "Hinamori-kun, why would he come here and just stand in the back the whole time?"

"I don't know. Maybe… maybe he was just here to see that guy."

"The one with the cuts?" Renji asked, "Why'd he come visit a student?"

Momo thought about it for a moment. There was something familiar about that guy— she forgot his name— that she hadn't quite been able to place until now. "I think they're related!"

"Hinamori-kun—" Kira began before she cut him off.

"It makes sense! Why else would he be able to just enter the Academy after the year's already began? One of my friends back in Junrinan applied eight weeks ago and still wasn't admitted! And they look a _lot_ alike. Other than the hair and eye color. And the cuts. And the nose. And—"

"So basically other than everything." Renji snorted.

Momo glared at him, cheeks flushing, "Fine, maybe I'm wrong about them being related, but Shiba-fukitaicho was _there!"_

"Okay, okay— calm down, Hinamori-kun," Kira said, "we believe you."

She huffed, "No, you don't."

They walked the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence. Kira and Momo had Hohō next and needed to change, Renji had Reiatsu Manipulation and had to grab his notebooks. Those two were the only classes they didn't all have together. Before they split off Momo looked to Kira, who'd been frowning and holding his shoulder for the last few moments, "What's wrong, Kira-kun?"

He blinked hard as if being broken from a trance, "Don't worry, it's probably nothing."

"Is your shoulder bugging you again?"

"I'm sure it's fine."

She shook her head, "You need to get it checked out, it's never going to get better if there's something seriously wrong and you just leave it."

A few days ago Renji and Kira had been sparring with their Zanjutsu poles after class when Renji struck him hard on the left shoulder. There'd been a _crack_ and a shooting pain, but he hadn't wanted to go to the medical office— a real shinigami officer never would, not unless they were missing an arm or had a hole the size of a melon blown through their chest. He thought it'd get better, but movement had gotten stiff and the bruising lingered. On the bright side though, it'd taught him to lean on his evasiveness and strategy instead of brute strength. But it would've be nice not to be in pain.

He went back an forth for a while until he sighed, "I'll go at lunch, before Hakuda. Sorry, Renji-kun, but you might have to find a new sparring buddy for today."

Hinamori's eyes lit up and she turned to Renji, "You should challenge that guy— Shiba-fukutaichō's friend!"

Renji groaned, "They _aren't_ friends. And his stamina sucks, he's always out after one fight."

"Then let's get there early," Hinamori persisted, "I think he'd be a good match for you!"

She was just trying to get him off Kira's back, he knew that. But that guy, the one with all the scrapes who defiantly hadn't been talking to Shiba-fukitaicho and didn't look a thing like him, he'd had some good matches, shitty endurance aside. Maybe it wasn't a bad idea.

"We'll see."

* * *

 ** _A/N: Whelp, sorry for that wait! Things got a bit crazy around the holidays._ _I wanted to do a longer chapter, but by the time I got this far I just wanted to get something out and bring in some other characters. Maybe next time._**


	4. Snap

.

 _ **PART I**_

 _ **CHAPTER 4: SNAP**_

* * *

Something bad happened.

Not everyone-is-dead kind of bad, but probably still pretty shitty in the grand scheme of things.

He'd lost his schedule and shown up a few minutes late to Hakuda today, only for a familiar little voice to call out the moment he walked in, _"Hey!"_

Himamori. He'd been so careful to avoid her all day but had gotten distracted in his haste.

He should've pretended he didn't hear her, walked over to another student or asked the teacher something. But, like a dumbass, he turned around and made direct eye contact with her and Renji. None of them said a word, until she nudged Renji's ribs with her elbow. He cleared his throat, "Do you have a sparring partner for today?"

And again, like a dumbass, Ichigo just stared at them like a deer caught in headlights. Once he realized how awkward the silence had become he mentally sifted through every excuse. There were a lot of things he could have said— that his eye was still bugging him, that he'd already promised someone else, that the teacher had urged him to sit today out. But he didn't say any of those things, instead his surprise morphed into dumb compliance and he just shook his head.

Renji grinned, "I'll ask Sasaki-sensei if we can go first."

And Sasaki said yes, _of course._

They went into the middle and for the next five minutes or so Ichigo was left warding off Renji's weak kicks and jabs until he decided that they'd been at it for long enough to look like a fair fight and delivered a swift hit to Renji's ribs.

Turns out the hit had been a bit too hard.

Just a bit.

Renji doubled over at the initial impact and remained on the ground gasping at first. Prideful and dumb he eventually got up as Sasaki called the match but his breathing was ragged and he was badly hunched to one side. To his credit though, he held in there for quite a while, dragged himself over to the sidelines and watched the next two matches until Hinamori shuffled over to Sasaki and said something Ichigo couldn't entirely make out, but defiantly included the words, _"worried, breathing, medic"_. Right after that she and Renji quietly left, him clutching his side and bent over, and about fifteen minutes later she returned alone and made her way to Sasaki and handed him a small slip of paper. Ichigo inched over to better hear them,

 _"What did they say?"_

 _"He has two fractured ribs."_

 _"How was he when you left him?"_

Hinamori opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she looked over and saw Ichigo standing right there. She noticeably bristled. _"He was still having trouble breathing."_

Sasaki nodded, then once Hinamori left he looked Ichigo dead in the eye and he _smiled_. Like Ichimaru, or Zaraki, or any other real-life psychopath.

This whole ordeal, it'd all been so ugly. Now he was the guy who'd snapped Renji's ribs with ease. Now he'd be pestered for battles all year. Now he was one to watch.

To top it all off, about an hour or so later Ichigo realized that he could've just dove and let Renji win, because even if he hadn't dolled out fractures any victory he took would've been met with request after request for a rematch. Nobody would've remembered one small loss.

This though, how the hell were they supposed to forget _this?_

* * *

"He _what?_ "

"He just _broke_ them!" Exclaimed Hinamori-kun, shrill and wide-eyed. "With a single hit!"

Izuru stared at her incrediously. Abarai-kun was tough, tougher than him— how could a single hit have done that? "Is he okay now?"

"Not really," she chewed her lip, "he was having trouble breathing and couldn't really stand up straight."

They were in Izuru's dorm, him seated on the floor and her pacing all about. She'd shakily knocked at the door after class and marched right in once he answered, the entire story spilling out before she even greeted him. He was sure she felt guilty, she was the one who'd pushed that match after all.

"Is your shoulder all better?" She asked, "I'm sorry, I forgot all about it."

He shook his head, "It's fine! You've had a big day."

"Did they say what was wrong?"

"It was nothing, just a tear in the tendon."

"That doesn't sound like nothing!" She slumped down to the ground with a grimace, "Is this what we're in store for? Just a bunch of tears and breaks, all the time?"

"Hinamori-kun, you're making too big a deal out of all this," he tried smiling at her, but she kept her gaze downcast. "It's not like he got an arm chopped off or anything."

* * *

Ichigo lied in bed staring at his ceiling late into the night.

Three goddamn people had asked about his fight with Renji already. One the minute he walked onto the Hohō field, one after class and then another as he loitered around the halls.

This whole Academy thing was a terrible idea, that much was obvious now. What was his endgame, to ride this thing out and become a captain? The aim of the game was to not create a ripple, and that would kick up a tsunami.

Right now his best idea was to find and steal one of those stupid Hell Butterflies and use it to open the Senkaimon— which would probably wake up all of Soul Society and land him in Muken.

 _You can fix this in the morning,_ he told himself, even though he knew it wasn't true. There was nothing to figure out. Staying here was damaging, but there was nowhere to leave to. He was trapped.

* * *

 _"Oi, King!"_

The cold air partially woke him up, but it was that voice that brought him to his feet. Not again. Everything was pitch black and the sound bounced all about— he felt senseless.

"What the hell do you want?" He growled.

 _"I told ya King, we're working together now."_

"No," Ichigo hissed, his entire body tensing up, "I don't want anymore of your help."

The hollow cackled, _"Well, ya need it. Geez, after doin' that to Renji. How hard of a hit did ya think he needed?"_

"It wasn't like I tried!" Heat rose to Ichigo's face and his hands rolled into fists, "I barely even touched him!"

 _"I call bullshit, King. We both know what it takes to break a shinigami's bones, even a young one. It ain't something that just happens."_

"Are you accusing me of something?"

There was a drawn out pause, then that voice again, coming in from every direction. _"Nah, yer dumb enough for it to've been an accident."_

Ichigo huffed. "Then why am I here?"

 _"I already told ya— f_ _or my help."_

* * *

Ichigo shot out of bed, face still numb from the cold and badly hoping that it hadn't been a dream. He reached under the futon and grabbed Zangetsu. Armed with the hollow's words in mind he climbed out his window and shunpoed to the First Division.

 _I'll bet they got the most bugs planted there._

He stopped atop the roof of the Head Captains office. He needed to get inside. It was technically easy, those pane-less gaping windows taking up the entire wall, completely unprotected. Something held him back though— the fact that this was a bad idea. He didn't know if there were guards or surveillance, he'd tampered his reiatsu down but what if someone still somehow felt him? He wanted to go back, but the hollow's voice again rang through:

 _Well King, what else are ya gonna do?_

What else.

He dropped down from the roof, onto the thin deck lining the room. He was wrong, there wasn't so much of a window as an entire wall missing. A stray animal could wander in without much effort. At first he wondered why the hell they'd design the Head Captain's office to be one of the least secure buildings in Seireitei, but then he realized that they probably hadn't counted on anyone being dumb enough to break in.

Ichigo looked around— it was so quiet and bare, the Head Captain's desk illuminated by the moonlight as the rest of the stark room sat in shadow. He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, and crossed the threshold between the balcony and the office, expecting Onmitsukidō members to descend from every corner. Nothing came though, his entrance was as unceremonious as his departure from his own room.

 _Ya know they're watching_

He marched over to the Head Captain's desk, feeling completely ridiculous. God, this would never work. Why had advise from his inner hollow seemed sound? If only there was another plan. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes,

"I know you're watching. I know you have this place bugged," he shakily mumbled, picturing those imaginary Onmitsukidō guards snickering in the shadows. A sizable chunk of him thought that the hollow was just screwing with him, that he thought making Ichigo break into the First Division and plead with thin air was a funny thing to do. Goddammit. "I also know that you're planning an invasion. And I know who you are. Bazz-B, and, um…"

Who were the other ones that went up to the Royal Realm? Those two girls, the blonde and the one with the black hair, he barely even remembered their faces. And then there were those others, the throng who'd attacked him. Why couldn't they have taken a page from the Espada's and spat out their names, ranks, and entire life stories?

"The girl, the blonde with the lightening powers. And the other blonde, who looks like a kid and has that mouth thing. And the girl with the pink hair, the really strong one who's arm could get all big. Also the one with the black hair, who could reattach limbs. And the, uh, _large_ guy with the glasses, and the older one with the mustache and guns, and one with the star-shaped hair and big glasses. And the one with the little sunglasses who makes jails, and…" a name rang through, "Oh yeah! Ebern! Ebern, um, Asgiar— Asguiar or something. And Menis, the pink-haired one. I think that was her name."

"I don't really remember your names, at all, but I _know_ you. You're Quincy. Sternritter. Yhwach is your leader, and Haschwalth. I know you're planning an invasion of Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. But don't, don't go through with it. Because Yhwach going to kill you. He's going to use this thing— I forget what it's called, but it'll kill all of you to revive his private guard, like Askin, and the sniper one."

Ichigo fidgeted with the hilt of Zangetsu and paced back a few steps. He was tired and this idea didn't make any sense. He walked back to the balcony then turned around before he leapt off,

"I'm not here just to warn you though," he told absolutely no one. "I think I can help."

* * *

That morning Ichigo awoke cringing. He'd broken into the Head Captain's office to talk to the walls under the 'advise' of what was probably a dream.

God he was an idiot.

* * *

 _Five years, eleven months and sixteen days._

Rukia sighed. This place wasn't for her. She weaved around the bodies of the crowded hall, head down and shoulders stiff.

She could see it, the other students could see it, the instructors could see it— everybody could see it but Renji. He said she just needed to adjust and that it was the same for everyone, but none of that was true. She was a breathing non sequitur, misplaced and confusing.

These next few months, or maybe even years, were anyone's guess. She couldn't see herself staying here, but going back home was hardly an option. It felt so—

A sudden pain shot through the back of her head. She spun around.

"What the hell, Renji?!" She hissed, "That hurt!"

He scoffed, standing tall with his arms crossed, "Yeah right. I broke two ribs yesterday and didn't whine like that!"

Oh, he was probably _itching_ to get that one out. "How'd you manage that?"

"A match in Hakuda." He replied with a little shrug, so purposefully nonchalant.

People were giving them dirty looks now for standing in the middle of the bustling hall. "What, now you guys in Class One are sparring with lead pipes?"

"Tsch, idiot, Hakuda's hand-to-hand."

"I _know_ Renji, it was a joke," she looked him up and down. Not a scratch. "What happened then?"

He leaned against the wall. "Got punched."

"By _what?_ "

"Some guy in our class. The one with the orange hair and all those scratches on his face and the busted nose, I dunno if you've seen him." Rukia shook her head. "It felt like getting shot with a damn cannon."

"Well that isn't melodramatic at all." She muttered, "So is Kira-san out? You found a new scrapping buddy?"

"Nah," Renji shook his head, "I'll need some time."

Rukia frowned, "Some time for what?"

"Time to get stronger. And the minute I do, I'm going for a rematch."

* * *

 ** _A/N : _Whelp, there's Rukia!**

 **My next chapter may be very delayed.**

 **Oh, and Wednesday is my birthday, so if you've read this you're hereby obligated to give me the gift of a follow/favorite/review.**


	5. In the Dark

_._

 _ **PART I**_

 _ **CHAPTER 5: IN THE DARK**_

* * *

The Academy was mostly dead this weekend, everyone who lived in Seiretei or the closer districts of Rukongai having flooded back home.

He was pretty sure Rukia and Renji had stayed though, and avoided leaving his room because of it. No contact, that was going to be his thing now. He didn't want to see Rukia and didn't want to talk to Renji. Easier that way.

He didn't know what to do though. Running into someone at the training grounds or in the library seemed inevitable. Yesterday, his first full day holed up in his room, he even considered sneaking in to check up the Gotei 13 and see who was captain nowadays. But then he told himself he'd stop doing that— breaking in. It was playing with fire.

He didn't know how much longer this was going to work for.

* * *

"Are you joking or just an idiot?" Rukia asked, staring at the wooden sword in Renji's death-grip.

"I'll bet he isn't even doing anything!" Renji exclaimed, trying to get past her and over to the dorms.

"I guess that answers my question," she sighed, "and the issue isn't his 'busyness', it's the fact that your ribs were just _fused back together_ two days ago! What ever happened to waiting and getting stronger and _then_ challenging him?"

"I have gotten stronger."

"From one day of training?"

"Whatever," he grumbled, "It was an intense day! And I have to do it now, everyone's gonna be back tomorrow."

"And what, you don't want them to see it when he kicks your ass again?"

"No, because he isn't going to!" Heat rose to his cheeks, "I just, if I wait the training grounds might get busy and—"

"Just wait, Renji," she gently pivoted him away from the hall leading to the dorms, "Wait till you _know_ you're strong enough, I'm sure it won't be long. Let's just go grab something to eat."

He paused, looking from her to the hall, the hall to her, then down to his sword, "I guess I'm a bit hungry."

With a little grin she lead him away, walking quick in case he changed his mind. "But if you do rematch him soon, be careful," she said once they were outside,  
"That guy sounds insane."

* * *

"Hey!" Kaien called, "Ichimaru!"

He turned, eyes slated shut, lips pulled into that grin. "Shiba-fukutaicho."

Kaien mentally cringed. He probably should've found someone else. "Do you have that report from the meeting yesterday? I had to do patrol out in Sabitsura and my captain's been a write off all week."

He and Captain Ukitake had been at the Eighth division when he realized he still needed to grab the notes, and since the Seventh, Eighth and Ninth divisions were all still lieutenant-less, Matsumoto definitely wouldn't have anything, and Byakuya was such an ass, it didn't leave much of an option.

"Yeah, I noticed ya weren't there," even the way Ichimaru spoke, his gestures— he was off-putting to the core. "we didn't look at much, though."

"Alright," he was about to walk away, not even bother pushing, when he remembered something, "Do you know when the Academy rankings come out?"

"For the sixth years?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "First years."

Ichimaru raised his eyebrows, "Ah, starting early? Aizen-taicho's like that too. Even signed the division up to supervise their first mission to the living world."

"So you know then, when they're being posted?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head, "They're first years, does it really matter?" that smile crept back, "But, nah, I got no idea."

 _Liar._

* * *

Ichigo was more than glad to go to bed.

He'd done nothing all day, other than going out to grab his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Plus, rankings were out tomorrow, which he was _almost_ excited about.

It couldn't make him forget that he'd have to see everyone again, though. There was a pit in his stomach to remind him of that.

Homesickness had come in waves today, now that he had nothing to do but sit and think. Every once and a while it'd crash down on him hard— flood him with images of Inoue and Chad and Karin and Yuzu and his dad, make him miss his bed and his shower and stirrup a kind of restlessness that made him want to break his lamp.

He missed them. At first he thought that maybe it'd be enough to just have Rukia and Renji here, but they weren't the people he'd known. They probably didn't even like him now.

He didn't know what he'd do if there was no way home, if he was trapped here for forty years. He couldn't even think about it, as weak as that sounded.

* * *

By now he knew what the cold air meant.

So, when he was awoken by a frigid gust he started getting up, ready for whatever the hollow had in store for him this time. But, the moment he tried to rise his neck hit something hard and cold, forcing him to stay lying on his futon.

"Stay. Down." demanded an unfamiliar voice, high and feminine.

He stiffened. He was still in his room, but someone else was with him. No, more than one person. He could feel them. He squinted in the dark, but all he could make out were vague silhouettes. "Who are you?" he asked, trying again to rise but whatever was at his neck forcing his head back down to the pillow.

There was silence. He reached up to touch what was pressed to his jugular, only taking him a second before he recognized the sheath: _Zangetsu_. These people weren't even using their own weapons.

His throat tightened— would they _need_ weapons? Even worse, what if they _did_ have their own?

The figure holding Zangetsu knelt down beside him, but didn't relinquish her grip. Up this close, with the moonlight thinly beaming in, he could almost distinguish her features. He didn't think he knew her.

She stared at him, big blue eyes and bright white teeth gleaming even in the dark,  
"Who do you think?"


End file.
